Abandonment
by captainamerica-owl
Summary: "I promised I would protect you." (eremika) Rated M for mature themes.


****I do not own ******__**Shingeki no Kyojin**__******.****

And her hair spills like ink across the snow, its tendrils coiling up like springs, all pointing in wayward, haphazard directions. And her eyes open like fluttering wings, like fluttering scraps of folded notes, like fluttering leaves catching onto sunlight. And her lips part, stained red and slick and cooling, to say what they both know she doesn't need to anymore. And her breaths puff white between them like unspoken promises and unraveled worlds. And he is suddenly very aware of how beautiful she looks framed by winter, by ice, by snow, by all things white and pure and untouched.

__She __is white and pure and untouched.

"I never wanted it to be like this," she says, and the knots in his stomach tighten and twist and tumble down and away and back again. "I promised I would protect you."

Above her head, he twines his too-warm fingers with her too-cold ones, the brown of his skin solid and stark against her milky hue. His mouth melds over hers, so easily he wants to pinch himself to make sure he isn't dreaming. He whispers back everything they both know he isn't supposed to anymore, hoping their meaning still holds meaning as his tongue burns over her swollen lips.

She doesn't heal like him. He can taste the blood his teeth have left behind and he briefly wonders if he should let her return the favor.

If there wouldn't be a monster waiting at the end of that proposition.

Her breasts crush soft against his chest and he's never thought about her body before—just the hard packed muscles, the scars lining her once flawless skin, the sharp turn of bone under muscle under skin under smoothness—and his heart is fixing to jump straight into his throat to kiss her trembling lips.

And her breaths are almost as hot as his and her legs draw close to his sides and he doesn't remember ever moving between them and he can't catch his thoughts quite as well anymore, but he doesn't care.

She is the only thing that makes any sense anymore.

And she takes him in, lets him slip between the cracks in her walls until they are tangled up so close neither of them can breathe. And she lets him overwhelm her, she lets him win this fight, she lets him have his way.

And that's all that he can ask for.

"I didn't want to be a soldier," she says, dark eyes hazy and unfocused as his mouth moves along her jaw. "I just wanted to protect you."

The scarf is a solid reminder of all the blood they've spilled together and all the blood they've yet to. It binds them the same way chains would. He only parts it over her throat to suck her voice right out of her. It comes in a soft whine, his name wrapped up carefully like a gift or an offering.

And her fingers curl into his sleeves and her back arches up and her thighs squeeze close to his hips and he forgets how to breathe for a few long seconds.

She is the only thing he sees anymore.

The ripple of muscle underneath her skin mesmerize him, tensing as his fingers spread over her stomach and slide up to her chest. She curves up into his touch and tugs at his arm to come closer, closer, __close this space___—_and her lips taste sweet, and her breaths remind him of fire, and _he_ is suddenly on fire.

She melts beneath him, loosened bones and slack limbs, and there are tears in her eyes, cheeks painted red, mouth open to say everything they both know neither needs to hear anymore.

"I don't want to lose you. You're all I have left."

And his fingers are slick with her, and he wonders how she can burn so hotly and still not as hot as him. And he wonders if she can feel it, if scars will remain inside of her forever in the shape of him—_him_—

And their bodies are connected, and he doesn't remember ever joining them but nothing feels out of place.

Nothing feels imperfect.

__She __is perfect.

They move together like two practiced dancers, two twirling birds in the air, two soldiers bringing down the enemy. She is burning inside, but not as hot as he is. Never as hot as him.

Her eyes are glassy and her mouth is open and she can't seem to catch her breath. The sweat sticking inky strands to her milky skin dribbles down her bare throat, between the ridges of muscle clenching in her abdomen. His palms sear into her sides and pull her closer.

And he knows that it's too much for her, and he knows that the snow is the only thing keeping her in one piece, and he knows that this will break them both somehow, but this is exactly what he needs.

This is exactly what will keep him together.

__She __has always kept him together.

"Please," she breathes, and her nails scrape up his chest but don't break the skin, and he is again amazed by her control, by her strength.

He is again reminded why she will always be the better of the two of them.

"Please don't ever leave me again."

She fits easily in his arms, the curve of her neck somewhere safe to bury his face, the touch of her lips against his ear his only anchor—

Flurries of snow fall down to melt on his skin, scatter on hers, and she's whispering how _hot__—___how much like fire___—_he is. And she presses closer, closer—_close enough to fill the cracks—_

And they both break.

And the world is still.

Her voice is caught in the wind with a shriek of his name and her nails have dug deep enough to cause an ache.

Never deep enough to break the skin.

Never deep enough to call the monster waiting at the end of it all.

And they melt, together, a heap of nothing in the snow.

"I'll never leave you," he promises, and her cheek is almost as hot as his lips.

~~...~~X~~...~~


End file.
